Strange and Beautiful
by sunny-historian
Summary: Minerva had never cared for beauty. Oneshot.


Title: **Strange and Beautiful**

Rating: PG

Warnings: **Femmeslash** and angst

Pairing: Hermione/McGonagall

Timeline: Seventh-year (post-HBP, minor spoilers, my future)

Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. You all know the score. Title is a song by Aqualung… not a songfic, don't worry!

Written for HP Girlslash Summer Seduction Challenge.

Minerva had never cared for beauty. Beautiful girls were proud and arrogant; they didn't work, they didn't need to. Minerva had never even wanted to be one of them. The girls she cared for were intelligent and hard-working, girls who loved magic for its own sake, girls whose eyes lit up when they learnt a particularly difficult spell.

Girls like Hermione Granger. When Minerva had first met her, as a Muggle-born first-year, she had been reading _Hogwarts: A History_. She had been gladder than she had any right to be when the small girl who had looked such a textbook Ravenclaw had been sorted into Gryffindor. And ever since then she had done her best for the child. Oh, she'd pretended that she would have done the same for any other of her Gryffindors. She did care for them all, even the troublesome ones like Fred and George Weasley, even the silly, beautiful ones like Lavender Brown. But she cared for Hermione because Hermione reminded her of her own childish self.

Not a child any more, though. She was eighteen and Head Girl, and a good Head Girl as well, just as Minerva had been. She had become much more beautiful than Minerva had ever been, though, with her long, straightened brown hair that sparkled when it caught the light, and big brown eyes and a body composed of lush curves…

Minerva put her head in her hands. To fall for a student was bad enough, but this was different. Much, much worse. At the age of seventy-one, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, was in love.

Hermione had never cared for beauty. Mostly because she had never had a hope of being beautiful. When she had been younger, she had scorned beautiful girls; now she lusted after them, and feared them, and hated them for it. Ever since two nights ago, when she had kissed Parvati, unable to stop herself, she didn't know where to go. The trouble with having male best friends was a distinct lack of shoulders to cry on; and it was worse now, with Harry who knew where and Ron… well, she didn't want to think about Ron. Until the party, she'd been able to hide it from herself; but now, even vowing never to drink again wouldn't take away her knowledge. She had kissed Parvati. More than that, she had wanted desperately to kiss Parvati. She had put her arms around her neck anddrawn her close and brought her slender face down to meet hers and kissed her. Beautiful Parvati. Slender Parvati. Parvati who had kissed back. Parvati who was Dean's girlfriend.

Beautiful Parvati. Hermione had never trusted beauty. Beauty was power that she couldn't control. Not like magic.

Minerva liked to make the rounds of Hogwarts every so often, looking in on the classes and the common-rooms, checking that everything was running smoothly, showing her face on the corridors. Granted, it was not exactly the Headmistress' duty to keep peace between Gryffindor and Slytherin; but it was important that the children knew her; and knew that she would not tolerate disorder in her school. It took a bit of pressure off the teachers and prefects, as well; especially now, with extra guards needed for the castle's various entrances and its perimeter, she couldn't hide in her office and do nothing to help.

Strolling into the library towards eleven o'clock, when all but the seventh-years were hurrying to get back to their common-rooms before curfew, she smiled. Outside the corridors were full of deafening shouting and running children, so much so that walking against the tide was a short-cut to the hospital wing. Here, though, was cool and quiet, almost empty.

Empty apart from Hermione Granger, sitting with her head resting on her arms at a table towards the back.

Minerva couldn't stop herself; and besides, her concern for her student was quite appropriate. Quietly, she crossed to where Hermione sat and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione?" she said softly, "Are you asleep?"

Hermione looked up at her, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry, Professor," she murmured blurredly, "is it eleven-thirty already?"

"What's wrong?" Fear quivered behind the Headmistress' voice, and she dropped into the chair next to Hermione.

"Nothing," she lied, pushing her hair behind her ears, "I'm tired, I'll go to the common-room –"

"Hermione. What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I'm quite all right!"

"Hermione, please. You're not all right, and if you go –"

"Quite honestly, Professor, it's not your business."

That was a blow, and Minerva bit her lip. Before she could speak, Hermione had gathered up her books and begun to move towards the door. She stopped, though, when she heard Minerva's voice.

"If it's making you unhappy, I'd like to know about it. You never know, I might be able to help. And besides, I… I'm… I _am_ the Headmistress, and if something's wrong I'd like to feel I could help."

"You won't be able to help," said Hermione bitterly, but she turned back. "It's not to do with school, it's just personal."

"Even so, it might help to talk about it," she clasped her hands, hard, trying to keep from saying anything else she'd regret. That had been close.

"I suppose so. But – no offence – not with you. I couldn't tell you."

The bottom dropped out of Minerva's world. Hermione could never love her, that was obvious and always had been. But Hermione didn't _trust_ her… that was altogether different.

"Well then," she said, "in that case I wouldn't ask you to. Sleep well, my dear. And if you ever did want to tell me anything, you know where I am."

Hermione gave her a half-smile. "Good-night, Professor."

When she'd safely gone, Minerva scooted round a little to where she had been sitting. Imagined she could still smell her scent, and laid her head on her arms, and sobbed.

It was never safe to care for beauty. Beauty undid you before you had seen it approach.


End file.
